#celesticls

.　　. 　 ˚　. ❛⠀⠀i smile,⠀⠀ ❜⠀⠀ he says, making no move to prove the princess wrong, neutral expression firmly etched in his features. it is the same look he was wearing when she made the comment, and the same one that's greeted the keep since he joined the kingsguard, almost never cracking. he is no saint, after all, and the keep attracts too many colorful people for him to maintain a perfect record, but he tries. it is part of the job, after all.

❛⠀⠀often.⠀⠀ ❜⠀

.　　. 　 ˚　.　 smile cracks at the corner of his lips. not his usual smile, which gleams like a knife, cutting away the softness in his features. no, this one was an actual smile; kind, content to exist without calling the entire world’s attention to it, curling with affection as he leaned back in the chair to watch his friend pace about the room. ⠀

⠀ ❛⠀⠀i know you are unused to it, but you got to lean into the pain. those are called thoughts. i know, i know. you’ve never heard of them before, don’t be alarmed. they are normal amongst us good, smart folk.⠀⠀ ❜

.　　. 　 ˚　.　⠀back straight, neck tense, rhoslyn focuses all of her energy in concealing the apprehension bubbling up in her stomach behind something which might closely resemble a smile. yes, her hair is a mess. something out of a folktale about a witch, maybe. dark locks, usually coiffed back in a braid or held back with purple adornments are tangled up in her neck and clumping up by her temples, a cruel trick of fate — or, more accurately, the handiwork of one of the children running around in the castle.

she tried to say no. really, really tried, but the word got stuck in her throat when the child looked up at her with pleading eyes and the words of course you can play with my hair, fell out instead.

❛⠀⠀just tell me. be honest with me... will i have to cut it?⠀⠀ ❜⠀⠀⠀she asks, voice breaking at the end.

Scarlett: So... it's been a while.

Scarlett: Are you done being mad at me?

pretend to be me in my ask and ill rate its accuracy  /10